


Stormseeker: Harry Potter

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Stormseeker Saga: Alternate Timelines [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy discovers that he can't die, and then winds up attending school with another boy who is famous for not dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Floating in Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first version of the story that became [The Boy Who Died](http://archiveofourown.org/works/572322) and then eventually [Borrowed Destiny](http://archiveofourown.org/works/502259).

The last thing I remember is the light.

I don't know what happened. Was there fighting? Was there an explosion? Where am I? Who am I?

There was pain. Am I dead? There's no pain now, though. Now, I'm floating in a limbo of light.

I center myself and concentrate. I think back to what happened before. Who I am. How I got here.

I died. I'm pretty sure I died. Is this the afterlife, then?

I focus. I remember my name. I am Lexen Chelseer. I am the Stormseeker. I don't know what this means, though.

But one thing becomes clear in my mind. I died, but I'm not dead.

I'm outside of time, and as my memory returns to me, I see the events that led up to where I am now.

I was fighting someone. Who was I fighting? Why was I fighting?

Elkandu. Not a name, but the name of a group. I was fighting Elkandu. Who are these Elkandu?

I don't know. I don't understand. What's going on?

As I stare at the timestream in confusion, I feel myself slip. I tumble in.

There's a buzz of noise in my ears, light blinding my eyes, and then everything becomes clear before me.

I'm standing where I was before. Before I died. A street, covered in faintly glowing cyan runes. There are buildings around me, and a strange device ahead of me. Eight curved pylons surrounding a central circle, all alight with brightly glowing runes.

"So, you're the latest Chelseer brat, are you?"

I know this man. His name is Sedder. He's an Elkandu, and a powerful one. A dangerous one.

"You're not supposed to be here, Sedder," I say.

"Like I care if I was exiled," Sedder scoffs. "The Dark Elkandu will take control of the Nexus today, and anyone who doesn't fall in line with us will die."

"You know you aren't going to get away with this, Sedder. When Keolah gets back--"

"I'm not scared of Keolah. And I'm especially not scared of your grandmother, Hawthorne." Sedder grins wickledy at me. "But it's time to end you, little bratling. I have no use for a pathetic Chelseer child."

I cry out, and turn to try to flee, but I'm not nearly quick enough. His magic is upon me almost immediately, and I stumble to the ground, unable to move my limbs any longer as strength drains from my body like water through a sieve.

Darkness surrounds me. Black tendrils of pure shadow burrow into my body like dark worms. Choking agony shoots through my body. I can't breathe.

Shit. I'm dying again. Damn it. I didn't remember it so clearly the last time, but dying hurts. I'm so helpless that by the time I realized I was about to die, it was already too late.

I cough up blood, but I barely have the energy to do even that. Then I can't even manage to cough. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. My head is light. Dizzy. Weak. Fading...

The pain fades away as I return to the light once again, looking down through a swirling mist on the scene where I had been moments before.

The image is frozen at the moment of my death. My corpse lays motionless on the rune-covered streets of the city of Torn Elkandu.

I stare for a long moment into my own face, still contorted in agony from the pain of Sedder's dark magic. It's more than a little unnerving to be looking at your own corpse.

Dying sucks. I didn't forget this time. I could still forget, though. I could cast it away and drift peacefully off into the light. I'm already dead anyway, aren't I? It would be so easy to just move on to the next life.

But no. I'm dead when I've barely had a chance to live. I'm not about to give up that easily. I'm not going to let it end this way.

I have a great gift, it seems, and it was given to me for a reason. I'm not about to throw that away or squander it. If I can do this, if I can really do this, why in the world shouldn't I?

I never stood a chance against Sedder. If I am to fight him, I will need to be more prepared.

I sift back through the timestream of my experiences, more carefully this time. I'm just a child, and I feel so weak and helpless against enemies of this caliber.

I see what happened. My mother brought me back here to begin my training as an Elkandu. I'm an Elkandu, too. The word 'Elkandu' refers to a mage who can travel to different universes.

How old am I? My body looks as though I must be only ten or eleven, but I feel older. How many times have I died but was unable to remember? The thought disturbs me a bit. That could have been my first death, or my thousandth, and I wouldn't know.

Experimentally, I try to look past the point of my death to see what happens next.  
But while it's easy to look forward, I run into a wall that prevents me from looking further.  
Neither can I look at anything that I have not directly experienced, I quickly discover.

Then suddenly, from out of the mists, a figure emerges. I didn't expect to see anyone here, and moving no less. And this one looks like a six-year-old elven boy with the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, luminescent like small stars.

"Hello there!"

"Wha--?" I say. "Who are you?"

"I'm Shazmar, and you're silly!"

I blink for a few moments. Shazmar? The mighty elven deity? A little boy? I find that a little hard to believe, and yet, one would have to be a very powerful being to be in this place.

"Shazmar... Did you bring me to this place?"

He laughs lightly, a sound like silver bells, and shakes his head. "No, silly. You did that yourself! But it's an interesting ability, and you're funny to watch, so I think I'll keep watching you for a while."

"Oh... well, I suppose that's alright, then... So can you tell me anything about my ability?"

"Of course, but I'm not going to," Shazmar replies.

"Why not?"

"It's much more entertaining to watch you try to figure things out by yourself."

"Can you at least give me some advice?" I ask.

"Oh, sure, I can do that," Shazmar says. "My advice here would be, don't let Sedder kill you."

"But he's so much more powerful than me. It wasn't exactly a matter of 'letting' him kill me..."

"So, the answer is simple, then. Don't be there when he comes to attack."

"But... where else am I to go?" I wonder.

"Anywhere you want. There's more worlds out there than you can imagine. And do you really think the Elkandu have the only magic school in the multiverse?"

I'd just started my training in Torn Elkandu. They wanted to prepare me for battle. They were looking at war with the Dark Elkandu. Sedder is their second-in-command. But what happened? Torn Elkandu was attacked. That was unexpected. And Sedder killed me by barely lifting a finger before I'd even begun to learn how to fight back.

I need to go back to before the attack and get out of Torn Elkandu. This white limbo is still a little disorienting, even if I've managed to focus my mind enough to hold onto myself through death.

"Well, Shazmar... I'll be sure to try to give you a good show, then. But I'll probably see you later, anyway."

"Tata, Lexen. Good luck, and have fun!"

I look back a week before the attack, and slip back into the timestream again. Back in my body, and back in action.

I glance around at my surroundings and reorient myself, remembering what I'm doing this day. I'm attending classes in the School of Thought. We're learning about the basics of channeling mana. I haven't forgotten today's lessons. Maybe this was why, when I was killed, I was able to get control over my power. Maybe I had died a thousand times before, but my magic reacted instinctively to protect me without my realizing. I'll probably never know, and it's a moot point, anyway. What's important is that I have control over it now. Now I can remember, and I can choose where to go back to.

The thought that I might be pretty much immortal doesn't reassure me as much as I might think. I can only travel through timestreams that I have directly experienced. So if I'm aiming for a particular outcome, I still need to work to get it. I just have more chances at trying for it than most people get.

I quietly excuse myself from the class and head outside, having no desire to sit through this lecture again. I realize, though, that if this is going to work, I may have to develop some patience for the tedious. Who knows when I'll have to sit and wait for the proper moment to act? But for right now, at least, I just need to get moving.

I head down the street toward the Nexus. This ancient magical device allows instantaneous teleportation to almost anywhere in the universe. Without it, the Elkandu would have to rely on fixed portals, and the few of them who are capable of teleportation in their own right.

With the Nexus, I can go anywhere in the universe. I could go somewhere safe to get magical training. Or I could just go run and hide and never return. I snort softly at the thought. Cowardice is hardly the Chelseer way. And who knows what the Dark Elkandu would do with this sort of power?

The gnome that's currently on duty at the Nexus looks over at me. Calto, I think his name was. I've been told that there always needs to be someone watching the Nexus, to make sure that the magical energies don't destabilize, because at best, it'd take them weeks to get it working again. At worst, it might just blow up. This strikes me as a terrible arrangement.

"Looking to go somewhere?" Calto asks.

"Do you know any worlds that have good magical schools on them?"

"Sure, I know of several. They're probably not as good as the School of Thought, though. Why don't you just learn there?"

I think I'd prefer to keep my... unique ability quiet for the moment. I can't actually foretell the future, anyway. Who knows what small actions might cause things to happen drastically differently?

"I'm sure it's great, but I'd like to get a broad base of knowledge," I reply. "Maybe they know something the Elkandu don't."

"That's not a terrible idea," Calto says. "Here's a list of places that might interest you. Let me know where you'd like to go and I'll calibrate the Nexus for it."


	2. Arrival in Hogsmeade

"Hogwarts?" I say, looking over my options for magic schools thoughtfully. "A strange name, but that one sounds interesting. I'd like to check that one out."

"Alright," says Calto the gnome. "Here you go. I'll set you down in the nearby village of Hogsmeade. Good luck."

The mists of the Nexus surround me, and when my vision clears again, I'm standing in an alley between two wooden buildings. I step out into the light and take a look around. It's a quaint little village, really. I hope this place isn't too primitive. I see thatched cottages lining the street, inns and various shops offering their services.

Off in the distance, I can see a large castle. Is that Hogwarts, I wonder? Or just the home of some rich noble?

I go to see about gathering some information for starters. I head into a nearby building, a dingy pub by the name of the Hog's Head. It looks like a fairly disreputable place. Just the sort of place to find out interesting things. The barkeeper is an older man with a thick, gray beard. He gives me a critical eye as I approach him.

"Eh, son, you look a bit young to be in a place like this, don't you think?"

"I can hold my liquor as well as anyone," I protest. "But I'm just here at the moment to ask some questions, not to drink."

"If you say so, son. What do you want to know?"

"I'm looking to attend Hogwarts," I say. "Who do I need to talk to for that?"

"If you didn't get a letter, you're probably out of luck. Not everyone gets in, son."

"I just arrived in the country today," I tell him. "I wasn't around when any letters would have been sent out. I'm sorry I didn't send ahead any notification that I might be coming, though. It was kind of sudden."

"Hmm, you do sound like an American," the bartender says. "Tell you what. I'll have a chat with the Headmaster for you and see if we can figure something out. Don't worry -- school doesn't start for another month yet."

"Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your help."

I have to stare wide-eyed as the barkeeper tosses some powder into the fireplace and then jumps into the green flames. That's... a rather strange method of transportation. Shortly afterward, the man returns by the same method, followed by another man who might be his brother.

"So, you're the young American boy Aberforth tells me about? I'm Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"I'm Lexen Chelseer. Pleased to meet you, Professor." I bow toward him respectfully. It never hurts to be polite when meeting people. First impressions can often mean everything.

Aberforth leads us into a small side room where we can speak privately, and we take seats at a table.

"Tell me what brings you to Scotland, Lexen," says Dumbledore. "Where are your parents?"

"My father probably doesn't know I even exist," I say with a bitter laugh. "And my mother might well be dead at the moment, or may be soon. The town where I was to be attending school was attacked by... by dark... wizards, and I barely made it out alive myself."

I remember Sedder's sneering face, black robes fluttering behind him, being hit with a terrible spell I never even saw coming... Dumbledore's face takes on an alarmed expression at my words, and he frowns deeply at me.

"That is most unfortunate," Dumbledore says. "You are quite the lucky young man to have escaped. I shall see about making the necessary arrangements to get you into Hogwarts."

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to it."

Dumbledore leaves, and Aberforth turns to speak to me once he's gone. "You must be pretty shaken up after that. You can stay with me until school starts, if you want. And I'm here if you want to talk about it."

"I'll be happy to take you up on the lodgings, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't feel like saying anything more about what happened right now."

Aberforth gives a nod and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "I understand, son. It's never easy, losing family like that. There's nothing worse than not being able to do anything to help them."

It hits me that I don't know if my mother will survive the battle or not, and there I just left her in Torn Elkandu. No, I remind myself, she wasn't even in Torn Elkandu at the time. But still, that doesn't mean she's safe, regardless. If the Dark Elkandu came after her...

I try to reassure myself that I can always just go back and see her, and save her in another timestream, but it doesn't help much. Thinking too hard about my time powers hurts my head. I don't know how it really works. I don't know if I've actually changed the past, or just split off a new timestream.

I must be looking pretty shaken up over my thoughts, and Aberforth seems to mistake this as being upset over the loss of my family and friends. That's not quite it, but I'm not going to correct him. He takes me to a small room where I can sleep, and offers me some dinner.

"You've been very helpful to me, Aberforth. I'll try to find something I can pay you back with."

As I start to poke around in my bag of holding, he shakes his head and puts a hand on my arm. "Don't worry about it, son. Save your money for school.

"Well... I suppose if you insist... I don't like taking charity, though."

"You've had a rough time of it," Aberforth says. "Get something in your belly and get some rest. If any dark wizards want to get to you here, they'll have to come through me first."

"Thank you, sir. I really do appreciate it."

Nightmares plague my sleep, as I die a thousand times in my dreams. I toss and turn, crying out in the night, and wake up sobbing to find Aberforth standing near my bed. He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder and hands me a purple potion.

"Here, son. Drink this. It'll help you get some sleep."

"Thank you, sir."

Wearily, I drink the potion, not even bothering to question what it might be. Before I know it, I drift off into a more restful sleep.


	3. Diagon Alley

I wake the next morning with warm sunlight falling upon my eyelids. I feel much more rested. Whatever it was that Aberforth gave me seems to have done its job. I stretch and get dressed, and head downstairs for some breakfast.

Aberforth gives me a small smile when he sees me. "Sleep well, son? Feeling any better?"

"Much better, thank you, sir."

"Eat up," Aberforth says. "I'm taking you into Diagon Alley today to pick up your school supplies."

With a grin, he passes me an acceptance letter along with my breakfast. I beam brightly and glance over the included list of books and other supplies. Once I'm finished eating, Aberforth goes over to the fireplace and tosses in a pinch of powder to turn the flames green.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Aberforth proclaims. He vanishes, leaving me blinking for a moment. Obviously he assumed I'm familiar with this sort of travel and expected me to follow. Well, no help for it, I grab a bit of the powder and mimic his actions.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" I say. I jump through, and find myself bouncing and sliding around what seems like a convoluted network of chutes. Who came up with this insane mode of transportation!?

None too soon, I emerge from a different fireplace, and tumble in a somersault into the far wall, coughing at soot.

Aberforth comes over and helps me up. "Not much one for Floo travel, are you?"

"I hate those things." I self-consciously brush a bit of soot off of my robe and look around. We came out in a different pub, a less dingy one, but this isn't our ultimate destination as Aberforth leads me off to the back. He demonstrates the bricks to tap to get into Diagon Alley, and we head through.

It's an active, busy place, full of shops and people. It reminds me somewhat of Torn Elkandu, minus the glowing runes all over the place, but the feel of it is still charged with magic."

"Is there a bank around here?" I ask. "I want to see if they'll change my money."

"Ah, carrying muggle money, are you?" Aberforth says. "Or do they not use galleons over in the States?"

I don't answer, and he leads me over to Gringotts and we head inside. This bank appears to be run by goblins. How strange. Goblins are very rarely seen in Torn Elkandu, and I have not previously encountered many of them before.

I hope that they'll take my money, considering it's not even from this world. But the fact that it's made of real precious metals should count for something. I can now more appreciate my mother's advice to carry around various things that would be of value on almost any world. I have coins and bars made of gold and silver, as well as a couple handfuls of different kinds of gemstones, both ordinary and magical. I don't want to part with the magical gemstones unless absolutely necessary, though. They're probably the most valuable thing I have.

I approach one of the goblins working as a teller and pull out a handful of coins as well as a couple gold bars.

"Could I get these changed into galleons, please?" I ask.

The goblin picks up one of the gold coins I've put on the counter and examines it carefully. It's a Lezarian hanna, stamped with an image of a four-pointed star. "I'm not familiar with coins like this, but it's perfectly good gold, so I'll take it."

After thoroughly analyzing the size and content of the coins and bars I'd offered, he passes me a number of gold, silver, and bronze coins. I scoop them up into my bag of holding and bow to him in gratitude.

"Thank you for your assistance, good sir."

He seems a bit surprised at the gesture of respect.

Aberforth is looking at me a bit oddly. "Do you always go around with gold bars in your pocket?"

"My mother didn't trust banks," I explain it away. "She traveled a lot and told me that I should always keep around some things that would be easy to trade."

"Makes sense, I suppose. Well, that lot should be plenty for your school supplies. Can get yourself a good wand, too."

A wand? What would I need that for, I wonder?

He leads me over to a shop called Ollivander's, and we head inside. The place appears to be filled to the brim with countless wands. Boxes upon boxes full of them, of all shapes and sizes. When we enter, there's already a blond boy about my age trying out wands. His attempts are causing things to go flying all over the room, interrupting my thoughts with being forced to duck.

"Ah, another customer. Young Mr. Malfoy has yet to find a suitable wand, but we can look for one for you as well. Here, try out this one. Willow and unicorn hair, ten inches."

Curiously, I take a hold of the wand and give it a little wave. A box almost hits me in the head, and Ollivander quickly snatches it out of my hand.

"No, that won't do at all," Ollivander says. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

He scoops up the stack of wands Malfoy had been trying out and heads back to bring out some more. Malfoy turns his attention to me. He looks over me with a bit of a sneer, as if he doesn't like my taste in fashion. I don't see anything wrong with wearing a robe with jeans and sneakers, myself.

"You're going to Hogwarts, too, I take it?" Malfoy says.

"That's right. My name is Lexen Chelseer."

"I've never heard of a wizarding family named Chelseer before. You must be a mudblood, or at least a half-blood."

"Mudblood!?" I say. I don't recognize the insult, but the intent is obvious. "Your lack of knowledge is your failing, not mine. I'll have you know I'm a pureblood. The Chelseers are an ancient and prestigious family."

I proceed to pull out genealogical records from my bag of holding to show him. The Chelseer line is traced back a thousand years to Khasadala Seer, the half-dragon princess of the elven kingdom of Kedresida, and from there the record shows the Seer family, the kings and queens of Kedresida, for another couple millennia.

"Do you always carry around your entire family tree in your pocket?" Aberforth wonders.

"Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

Malfoy doesn't even bother to look at the family tree and just throws up his hands. "Alright, I believe you, you're a pureblood!"

I chuckle softly, mollified, and close the large, ornate, and rather heavy book. I can't really blame him too much for his ignorance, but nobody lightly insults my family and gets away with it.

"That's good, because I was about to smack you with this thing otherwise." I shove the book back into my pocket.

Ollivander gets back with another stack of wands to try out. After trying out a few more wands, Malfoy leaves the shop with one made from hawthorn and unicorn hair.

Once he's gone, Aberforth puts a hand on my shoulder and leans close, lowering his voice. "Watch out for that one, Lexen. His family is rich and powerful, but they have a bit of a reputation for being dark wizards."

"Noted, thank you."

"Let's see if we can find a wand that likes you, now," Ollivander says. "The wand chooses its master, after all."

I try out maybe three dozen more wands, until one of them finally seems to click with me. This one feels warm and somehow right, and when I wave it, a cascade of red and green sparks flies from the tip.

"Pine and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, somewhat bendy," Ollivander says. "An excellent match for you, it appears."

"That makes sense, I suppose," I say. "My family's always been associated with dragons, after all."

I pull out my bag of holding and count out the galleons for him, and leave the shop with my new wand.

I wave around my wand a bit more as we head down Diagon Alley, grinning gleefully. It feels like a natural extension of my arm and my soul. It feels as though it's a part of me, and with it, it will be considerably easier to do magic.

Aberforth chuckles softly as he watches me. "You can put the wand away now, Lexen. Feels good to have one for the first time, doesn't it?"

"It feels like I've just gotten back a hand that I didn't know was missing."

I had wondered at first why the wizards in this world use wands, but now I have to wonder why the Elkandu don't. Maybe they are paranoid about relying on something that could be broken, lost, or stolen, and so take a rougher road to their power. I have to admit myself that I'm more than a little wary of the chance of my wand being snapped like a twig, but it won't stop me from using it.

We make a few more stops around Diagon Alley to pick up my school robes, cauldron, and other supplies. When we're done collecting everything, we stop in front of a pet store called Magical Menagerie.

"Well, Lexen, you want to pick up a pet while you're here, too?" Aberforth says. "An owl might be useful, or a cat I suppose. Pity they won't let you keep a goat in school. They had a fit when I tried, back when I was your age."

I can't restrain my giggles at that mental image. The thought of Aberforth being a kid, and not only that, trying to bring a goat to school? "Let's see what they have."

In addition to the aforementioned owls and cats, there's quite a variety of other animals available in the shop as well. Birds, rats, snakes, frogs, not to mention some that I don't even recognize.

"Hmm. I wonder what I should get..." I say.

"My expert recommendation would be: not a toad," Aberforth says. "And don't worry too much about the letter specifying only owls, cats, or toads. In practice, they're fine with anything that isn't too big or dangerous. There's students who have things like rabbits, rats, or snakes, too."

As I'm looking around the shop, I notice that a sleek black bird appears to be staring at me, carefully watching my every move. I can tell immediately that it's quite an intelligent bird.

"Is that a crow?" I ask.

"That's a raven, son," Aberforth tells me.

I cock my head and look at the bird some more, who mimics the gesture and continues to look back at me.

"So," I say. "You're a raven, huh? What do you think, you want to go with me?"

The bird's response seems to be in the affirmative, so I go and pay for the bird and take him along with me. He seems to appreciate getting out of the pet shop, or perhaps he was just waiting for the right person to come along.

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "You're going to need a name. I could always call you something terribly cliche, like Midnight, or Ebony, or Blackwing, or something."

The raven shakes his head a bit and makes a displeased sound, and I have to laugh a bit at that.

"Didn't think you'd go in for that. So, let's see then... how about... Solomon? No, not that, maybe... Balthazar? You like that, huh?"

The raven reacts positively to this suggestion, seeming quite happy. I smile broadly. Between Aberforth, my wand, and now Balthazar, I'm starting to feel quite at home in this new world.


	4. To Hogwarts

"Why do I have to go all the way to London if Hogwarts is right across the lake?" I wonder.

"It's tradition" Aberforth says. "Heh. A tradition that hasn't even been around as long as I've been alive. Just smile and go with it. It'll be a nice, relaxing train ride."

"Heh. If you say so."

King's Cross is busy today, with numerous people obviously heading for the Hogwarts Express, and numerous more mensch paying no attention to them. No, not mensch. They call them 'muggles' here. We pass through the barrier to Platform 9 3/4, and see the cherry red steam engine that will take me back up north to Hogwarts.

"Good luck, Lexen. Be sure to write."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

"And you can stop calling me 'sir' already." Aberforth laughs lightly and gives a wave as I climb onto the train.

Balthazar wasn't happy about being left with the various sorts of owls while I get to ride in the passenger compartments. I'll make it up to him later with some sort of treat. I slide into an empty compartment and take a seat next to the window so I can look at the scenery outside.

I can't help but be more than a little excited. Had I been this excited the first time I came to Torn Elkandu? Definitely not. For all they think that they know everything and they're the greatest mages ever, the Elkandu are... missing something. I'd rather learn the magical secrets of a hundred different worlds than sit around in my own little world thinking that I know all there is worth knowing already.

In the quiet compartment by myself, I take out my wand again to look over it thoughtfully. It feels good in my hand, but I have to wonder in idle curiosity if I might not be able to get better results from a custom-made wand. I may have to look into that sometime.

A bushy-haired girl pokes her head into my compartment. "Excuse me. Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost his."

"A toad?" I say. "No, sorry, I haven't seen it. Isn't there, like, a spell to find something that you've misplaced, or something?"

The first spells they teach in Torn Elkandu are 'Where-The-Heck-Am-I?', 'Where-Did-I-Put-That?', and 'What-Time-Is-It?'. Unfortunately, I hadn't gotten to the point where I'd learned any of them yet.

"I imagine there is, but I don't know it yet, either."

Should I help her? She seems a nice enough girl, but on the other hand, this is a toad we're talking about...

"Best see if we can find it, then, before one of the cats or owls decides that it's food," I decide. I get up and join them in looking for Neville's toad.

The girl smiles at my helpfulness and introduces herself. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Lexen Chelseer. Pleased to meet you." I give a polite bow toward her.

"You sound like an American," Hermione says. "Are you from the States? I've never been there, myself. What's it like there? Are the witches and wizards there anything like they are here?"

"I've generally found, for any two places, there's more differences than you'd expect, and more similarities than you'd imagine."

I look into a compartment to see if the toad is hiding inside. There's two boys inside, one with red hair and one with dark hair, glasses, and such green eyes that I have to wonder if he's a cousin of mine somehow. The redhead seems to be trying to turn his pet rat yellow.

"I don't think that's a real spell, is it?" I say dubiously.

"Then I'll blame my brothers for pulling one over on me," the redhead says. "They totally said that would work!"

"You haven't seen a toad by chance, have you?" I ask.

The boys shake their heads, and I continue on. I hardly go much further than I spot a toad hiding in an overhead compartment. I have no idea how it got up there, but I reach up and retrieve it.

"Neville, is this your toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville says happily. "Thanks for finding him. Maybe I'll be able to keep track of him until we get to school, at least..."

I return to my compartment, and Neville and Hermione decide to sit with me for the remainder of the journey.

"So you're a muggle-born, Hermione?" Neville says. "Some kids might look down on you for it, but I think you're alright."

"I don't see what difference it should make," I say. "I mean, sure, family heritage can be something to be proud of, but a powerful wizard is a powerful wizard and still worthy of respect regardless of who their parents were."

"Oh, I was mostly worried that I'd be so far behind everyone else," Hermione says. "But it's nice to have friends like you two."

Some while later, a woman comes down the corridor pushing a cart, offering to sell candy, so I buy a bunch of it. They have some interesting sorts of candy here, I think. The chocolate frogs amuse me. Some of the others, like the every-flavor beans, would amuse me to inflict upon unsuspecting Elkandu.

I look at the card that was in the chocolate frog package. It shows an image of Dumbledore, and mentions something about defeating a dark wizard named Grindelwald, finding uses for dragon's blood, and working with Nicholas Flamel. I suppose he couldn't have been a teacher his entire life. He must have seen a fair bit of action when he was younger.

I get changed into my school uniform robes before the train arrives. Once we get there and depart the train, the first years are gathered onto boats and taken across the lake. I have to wonder if making students ride a train and then boats like this is intended to build up anticipation and excitement or something. Well, whether that's the intention or not, it seems pretty successful at doing that. We finally arrive at Hogwarts and are shuffled into the Great Hall.

There, I'm greeted to the sight of a battered, singing hat. Whatever I might have expected to see here, that wasn't it. I suppose I've seen stranger things. After all, my grandmother has a talking sword. But they could at least keep it in better condition.

They begin calling up students one by one to go up and put the hat on their heads. A girl apparently named Hannah Abbott is the first to go.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" calls out the hat.

A few other students get sorted into their various houses next. Another Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and a Slytherin. Then it's my turn.

"Chelseer, Lexen!"

Suddenly feeling a little hesitant, I go up to put the hat on my head. I'm not too fond of people poking around in my head on principle. But there's not much help for it at this point.

"Don't worry, if I made a habit of telling students' secrets, someone would have set fire to me long ago," the hat whispers in my mind. "Hmm, interesting, very interesting. We don't often get interdimensional travelers here. But I'm sure I can find a place for you. Intelligent and ambitious, not to mention and brave, loyal, and not afraid of hard work. You'd do well in any of the houses, I think. But where shall we put you?"

While I'm not inclined to dismiss Slytherin as nothing but evil scum, I don't really want to disappoint Aberforth and Dumbledore, who had been so helpful to me.

"I'm sure they'd think no less of you regardless of where you end up. But you do certainly have a good streak of courage and honor in you. I think perhaps this might be best. Let's put you in GRYFFINDOR!"

I pull the hat off my head again, not entirely certain if I should be feeling relieved or what. But maybe the hat is right, and I don't know enough about this universe to say for myself yet, so I'll trust its judgment.

I head over to the Gryffindor table to watch the rest of the sorting. Shortly, the girl from the train, Hermione Granger, comes over to sit with me, and then Neville Longbottom. Who appears to be minus his toad again.

Malfoy goes up, and, unsurprisingly, gets sorted into Slytherin. The Sorting Hat doesn't even seem to want to touch his head overly much.

"Potter, Harry!"

At that name, the table around me erupts into excited murmurs. Famous Harry Potter? Who? I suppose this Potter family must be important around here, or something. That seems more likely than an eleven-year-old managing to do already have done something to get him such widespread notice. I'll have to keep an eye on him.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry comes over to sit down at my table, with a look on his face like almost like he wants to turn invisible under the cheers of the other Gryffindors. I can't say I really blame him. Who needs that kind of attention?

After some brief words and ominous warnings from the Headmaster involving some corridor and someplace clichedly called the Forbidden Forest, a feast appears on the tables, ready for us to eat. Now this is more like it! I dig in and proceed to stuff myself with a variety of delicious foods.

All in all, I'd say things are off to a great start. I can't help but be happy to be here.


	5. Classes

Every week, I have Balthazar take letters back and forth to Aberforth, telling him about how things are going here. He seems happy to hear about how I'm doing in school.

"So you made it into Gryffindor, huh?" Aberforth writers. "I'm happy for you, son. I think you'll be well-suited for it."

I settle in to classes at Hogwarts, and get a chance to test out my abilities. I have a lot to learn here about how these people do their magic, and I have to wonder how this might compare with the rest of the multiverse.

In Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, we're instructed to turn matchsticks into needles. I'm terrible with it at first, but I eventually manage to get some success, at least.

In Professor Snape's Potions class, the man proceeds to give grandiose speeches about how great potions are, but I'm not impressed. Well, I'm here to learn, so I'd best keep an open mind about it, at least. While I'm more interested in magic with more immediate effects, I'm sure knowing about how to make potions or to enchant items and whatnot could also be useful.

Then he practically pounces upon the poor 'famous Harry Potter' by asking him a number of questions that the boy can't answer. I don't know the answers either, although Hermione obviously appears to. I'm rather glad not to be him, with all the unwanted attention he seems to get, positive and negative. I wonder if Snape really thought he should be able to answer these questions, or if he was just trying to humiliate the boy?

For the actual potion making, I team up with Neville, who is a walking disaster area when it comes to potions. He manages to melt his cauldron, for which Harry takes the blame, despite not even having been particularly nearby. Well, if I had any doubt that Snape is not exactly an honest or fair teacher, that pretty much dispels it.

The History of Magic class is taught by the ghost Professor Binns. Most of the class, aside from Hermione, quickly gets into the habit of treating this class as a nap period. I listen with interest, however, as despite the ghost's rather dull oratory, there may be some interesting and useful information that can be gleaned from it, regardless.

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell quickly makes me realize that he's not a very good teacher. When asked any potentially useful or interesting questions, he becomes quite flustered and changes the subject.

I don't think, at this rate, that I'm even going to learn anything useful in this class at all. I absently make a mental note that finding a better Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher might not be a terrible idea.

In Professor Flitwick's Charms class, the teacher seems far too excited to see Harry Potter on his attendance list. This whole 'famous Harry Potter' thing is starting to get a little annoying, to be honest, and I'm not even Harry Potter! I can imagine he must be doubly annoyed about it, as he definitely seems not to be exactly basking in the attention.

For the first few sessions, we're mainly learning about magical theory, without any practical application of spells yet.

Then we finally get to try to levitate feathers. Try would definitely be the word there, anyway. Try as I might, my feather refuses to budge, however. How disappointing.

Hermione gets the spell to work first, prompting praise from the teacher.

"Show-off," Ron scoffs. "No wonder she doesn't have any friends."

"Hey!" I interject. "I'm her friend!"

"Me too!" Neville adds.

Hermione practically blushes under our defense of her. I'm a little surprised that Neville spoke up, as he's usually pretty meek.

"I don't see how you can stand her," Ron says.

"I don't see why you can't," I say. "This is a class, not a competition. For that matter, at the rate I'm going, you'll get this spell down before I do, but I'm not going to hold that against you, so why should you hold that against Hermione?"

Ron grumbles about it for a few moments, but sure enough, he does manage to get his feather to levitate into the air before too much longer. Meanwhile, I'm still struggling with it. I might have gotten it to move a bit, but that might have just been me breathing on it.

"I think maybe the spell doesn't like your American accent," Hermione says.

"I don't see why that should matter," I reply. "Or why the incantations are important at all. It's all about intent, isn't it? For that matter, I'd probably have an easier time with some of these spells if I didn't say anything at all!"

Experimentally, I give my feather a hard look, focusing upon what I want it to do, and purposefully swish and flick my pine wand toward it. This time, my feather actually flips up into the air and turns end over end before flopping back down to the desk.

Professor Flitwick looks over to me with a curious eye. "So, what's this? You're better at nonverbal spells than spoken incantations? Most peculiar, most interesting."

I'm not really surprised at this, myself. I repeat the action upon the feather again, concentrating and focusing my raw will upon what I mean to do. With a little more practice, I'm starting to have much better success and control over the movements of the feather.

"Mr. Chelseer, could I speak with you after class for a moment?" Flitwick says.

"Certainly, Professor."

After class, I go and see Professor Flitwick in his office. At least it's under good circumstances, rather than me being in trouble for something, I figure.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Chelseer."

I politely sit down in the indicated chair. "I'm assuming you wanted to speak with me about my ability to use magic nonverbally?"

"Indeed," Flitwick says. "It's usually a more difficult practice to master, for most people at any rate. Tell me, Mr. Chelseer, you wouldn't happen to have any non-human ancestry that you know of, do you?"

I reach up and pull back my hair, showing up the slightly misshapen and pointed ears, usually hidden by my hair. "I am part elf, sir."

"Ah!" Flitwick says. "That might explain it, I think. I'm part goblin, myself, although fairly distantly removed. You might have inherited a touch of their affinity for magic, perhaps."

I don't comment that most of the mages I've known do magic nonverbally as well. Then again, most of the mages I've known have elven blood as well, if they aren't fully elves to begin with. I rack my brain trying to think of any Elkandu who are actually fully human. Some mibis, maybe. But the most powerful and skilled ones are definitely all elves.

"Well, keep doing what you're doing, then, if it works for you," Flitwick says. "I'm hardly going to mark you down just because you didn't say the incantation aloud. You did say it in your head though, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," I reply. "I just focused my will upon what I wanted my magic to do."

"Ah! I see! Most intriguing. Well, in that case, you'll probably wish to practice the incantations, regardless. Relaying on will alone may give you unpredictable results for more complex spells."

"I'll keep that in mind, Professor. Thank you."

"Now, I shan't keep you any longer," Flitwick says. "Run along, now."


	6. Halloween Troll

I've been looking forward to the Halloween feast, but then I tend to look forward to any feast, or every meal, for that matter. Food and drink are one of the few simple pleasures in life that I can truly enjoy without having to worry about anything else.

And then, interrupting the pleasant meal, Quirrell comes in screaming something about some troll that had gotten into the castle somehow and was now wandering around down in the dungeons somewhere.

The students are instructed to return to their dormitories for their own safety. As we shuffle along, I hear the other students murmuring to one another about the troll, in varying degrees of fear and excitement. Some of them think it's just a big Halloween prank of some sort.

I decide to try to find the troll, and test my skills against it. A dangerous prospect, but a good opportunity to try to kill something that no one is likely to mind me killing. If I can't kill a mere troll, after all, I'll have no chance against the Dark Elkandu.

In the confusion, I manage to find a moment to slip away unnoticed. I make sure that no one appears to have spotted me sneaking off. It would not do to have my potentially glorious battle interrupted, or for me to get detention before I can get myself killed or not.

Down the stairs and into the dungeons I go. They'd said that the troll was in the dungeons, and I don't think it's had time to wander upstairs yet. I can hear it moving, rumbling, letting out a low growling noise as it tramps down the corridor. I sneak around to catch it by surprise as much as possible and approach it from the side.

This thing is huge and ugly, but then everything seems huge to an eleven-year-old. It also smells particularly... fragrant, as well.

I try to use my powers to beat the troll to death with its own club. But I'm not strong enough yet, and there's too much mass for me to affect. I can't make the club do anything more than quiver a little in the troll's massive hand.

I attempt to use Transfiguration on the troll's club to transform it into something that could attack it. I meet with less than stellar success, however. While the club flickers for a moment as if to change into something else, nothing ends up happening in the end.

The troll is on top of me in a moment, angry at my failed attacks. Roaring at me, swinging its club as I turn to run. Too late. There's a sickening crunch and a blinding agony in my back. It hurts. It hurts so much. I feel like that must have broken my spine, all of my ribs, my shoulder bones, and my pelvis, in one single blow, judging by how much hurts.

I can hardly breathe, but I still try to run away. It hurts, and I'm coughing up blood. My legs are still working, though. I have to get away, I have to--

I'm slammed into a wall. Claws dig furrows through my chest. I'm bleeding. My mind is swimming in pain. I'm dying. I look up at my killer. I look up into the face of an angry mountain troll. With pain throughout my entire torso, I look up at it almost begging it to end it quickly.

Then the troll crushes my head.

The world fades to mist.

"Why, hello there, Lexen," Shazmar says brightly. "Have you done something stupid again?"

"Yeah, I think that about sums it up," I reply.

"There's a lesson to be learned here, I think," Shazmar says. "Don't go picking fights unless you're reasonably certain you can win. For that matter, don't go picking fights unless you're reasonably certain that you're even in the same ballpark as your opponent."

"Right."

"In this case, one eleven year old boy doesn't stand a chance against a fully grown mountain troll."

"Right."

"You need at least _two_ eleven year old boys to defeat a fully grown mountain troll."

I blink at the godling child. "You know, somehow this doesn't make me feel any better."

"That's what I'm here for!" Shazmar says, beaming cheerfully. "Helpful advice and witty commentary. Now go back and pick a better choice."

* * *

I return to that morning, and find myself back in Charms class. I'm rather annoyed about the turn of events, even though it's really my own fault, and don't even care to levitate any damned feathers.

When they start insulting Hermione, I mutter, "Yeah. Nobody likes getting shown up by a mudblood."

There are gasps of shock at my words, and Hermione's face practically turns purple for a moment before she runs off screaming and crying.

"What's that you called her?" Harry wonders.

"Man, that's harsh," Ron says. "I don't like the know-it-all myself, but I wouldn't call her _that_."

"Detention, Mr. Chelseer," Flitwick says.

Blast, he heard me. Oh well, no help for it now. I grumble a little. "Yes, Professor Flitwick."

"Saturday, with Filch."

Not exactly the way I might have been hoping to spend my weekend, but I don't complain. No point in it.

"What's a 'mudblood'?" Harry asks.

"That's a really nasty thing to call a witch or wizard whose parents were muggles," Ron says. "Like they got dirty blood."

The Halloween feast gets my mind off being annoyed about getting detention. It was kind of sloppy and foolish of me, really. I should have just kept my mouth shut.

I decide to go along and return to the Gryffindor dormitory as I'm told. The boring but safe choice, and the one least likely to get me killed. I don't fancy getting killed again just at the moment, and a troll is definitely a dangerous adversary.

When I look around the common room, however, I notice that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are missing. They're not up in the first year boys' dormitory either. They must have slipped away in the confusion to go look for Hermione. Idiots, they're going to get themselves killed that way.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Neville asks. "She's not in the common room, and Lavender said she wasn't up in their dorm, either."

"No," I reply. "Harry and Ron are missing, too. I think they've gone and done something Gryffindorish."

The two of us head back down to the common room to wait nervously for news on the troll. But I can't wait. I feel bad about what I said on the spur of the moment while pissed off about dying. I slip out of the dormitory.

I'm going to go try to find Hermione. I feel bad about Hermione running off. I could have said something to defend her. I could have prevented this. I don't get far before I run into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who had the same idea.

"We've got to find Hermione!" Harry says.

"She doesn't know about the troll," Ron adds.

"Ron, weren't you the reason she ran off crying in the first place?" I ask.

"Or maybe it was because _you_ called her a mudblood," Ron says. "But I guess you feel bad about it, too."

"I'm not some pureblood supremacist that wants them all to die, by any means. She's still a person, even if she _is_ annoying sometimes."

"I didn't mean for her to run off and get eaten by a troll, either," Ron begrudgingly adds.

"Let's go find her before something horrible happens to her."

The three of us locate Hermione where she was crying in the girl's restroom on the first floor. And not a moment too soon, as the troll has located her there as well. The stalls have been broken, and Hermione is cowering inside in the back, terrified of the enormous monster before her.

The creature roars, and turns around, its attention shifting toward three new targets. What can I do here? I don't know any magic strong enough to defeat a troll!

The monster swipes at me with a clawed hand, slamming me into the wall. Crack. I think it broke a rib. Pain. Trouble breathing. I'm going to die, aren't I. I'm going to die again. Any moment now, it'll finish me off...

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron casts.

My mind is hazy in pain, but I hear words. I see movement. Ron Weasley has just levitated the troll's club. Before I know it, the troll slumps to the ground.

I slump to the ground, too, clutching my chest in pain and coughing up blood.

"Get Mr. Chelseer to the hospital wing." When did Professor McGonagall get here?

What's going on? I try to focus for a moment and re-evaluate my situation. I'm alive. The troll is no longer attacking me. I'm not being attacked anymore, but I'm hurt. Therefore, it's safe to pass out.

When I wake again, I find myself in a bed, looking up at the ceiling. The pain is gone. My chest seems whole again. No nasty claw marks or blood. It would appear that I survived, this time.

"Ugh... what happened?" I murmur.

"You decided to attempt to take on a mountain troll," says Madam Pomfrey. "You had three broken ribs and a punctured lung. You're lucky that claw missed your heart."

"I guess I'm kind of a Gryffindor sometimes..."

"Your friends have been eager to see you," Pomfrey says. "Since you're awake now, I'll send them in."

"Have they?" I murmur. "That's nice of them..."

Ron, Harry, Neville, and Hermione storm into the infirmary and cluster around the bed I'm laying in.

"Lexen!" Neville says. "I'm glad you're alright. I was afraid you'd all got yourselves killed!"

"Well, we didn't, thanks to Ron," I say. "Thanks, mate. I owe you one."

"I don't get why you came to help me after you were so nasty to me," Hermione says. "But, thank you."

"Yeah... I'm sorry for being mean to you like that."

Hermione smiles a little and gives a nod. "Alright. I forgive you. The fact that you risked your life to save me says more than your words did."

Harry looks around conspiratorily and lowers his voice. "On the way there, before we met up with you, I think I spotted Snape heading toward that forbidden section of the third floor. I think he might've let the troll in as a distraction."

"What's on the third floor?" I wonder.

"I don't know," Harry says. "They're hiding something there, and guarding it with a huge three-headed dog. Maybe he was trying to get at it."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous," Hermione says. "Professor Snape is a teacher. He may be annoying, but he's not evil. Why would he do something like that?"

"There's a huge three-headed dog in the school!?" I say in alarm.

"Yeah," Harry says. "You weren't with us when we came across it. Long story."

"Clearly, I need to be paying more attention," I say.

"But Professor Snape was with us when the teachers found us," Hermione argues.

I rub my head wearily. I don't know what it is they're going on about the third floor corridor and Snape, but it's making me very tired.

"That's enough for now, children," Pomfrey says. "Mr. Chelseer needs his rest. Off with you, now."

"We'll save you some sweets, Lexen," Neville promises.

* * *

Saturday arrives. I'm sent to the third floor for my detention with Mr. Filch. I'm apparently not the only one who has detention with Mr. Filch today. Malfoy is there as well, looking a bit sullen under his perpetual sneer.

Filch tells us, "I expect to see this entire corridor scrubbed clean by the time you're done. And no magic from either of you!" To emphasize his point about this, he takes away both of our wands. "You'll get them back when I'm satisfied with your job. Now get to work!"

Once he's gone, Malfoy grumbles as he reluctantly looks at the mops and buckets. "Doesn't he have house-elves to do this sort of work?"

"I think it's more about punishment than logic," I say. "What better way to annoy students than by making them do something pointless? Does anyone even _use_ this corridor?"

Malfoy snickers softly as we get to work reluctantly. For a moment there, I thought he might just refuse to do anything and force me to clean the corridor by myself. Not that I particularly care, anyway.

"So, what're you in for?" I ask conversationally.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"What'd you do to get detention, I mean?"

"Oh," Malfoy says. "I hexed Ron Weasley."

I snort softly in amusement. "He probably deserved it."

"He did. What about you?"

"I called Hermione Granger a mudblood," I reply.

"She _definitely_ deserved it. So how did you wind up in Gryffindor, anyway?"

I shrug. "I don't think they like me overly much, for the most part, anyway."

"Heh. Well, if you ever get sick of them, I'm sure we can make room for you in the Slytherin dorms."

I chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."

I scrub. I spot something on the floor. I peer over to take a closer look. "Say, is that... blood?"

"Huh. Yeah, it is."

"Odd," I say. "The troll didn't get up to this floor. I wonder what happened here?"

"Hey," Malfoy says. "Isn't this the corridor that's supposed to be forbidden 'on pain of death' this year?"

"I think so, yeah."

"I bet somebody tried to get in."

Curiously, I check the door at the end of the corridor. "It's locked."

"I bet anyone could get in with a simple 'Alohomora', though," Malfoy says. "Pity we don't have our wands."

"What, you want to check out something 'on pain of death', too?" I wonder. "When did you turn Gryffindor?"

"I was just curious. No need to be insulting." There's no rancor in his voice, though. Come to think, he's sneering at me considerably less than usual, too.

"Anyway, if you must know, the 'pain of death' beyond that door is a big, vicious three-headed dog."

"Really?" Malfoy says, raising an eyebrow. "Where did you find that out?"

"Some of the other Gryffindors were sneaking around in the castle a while back, and mentioned it."

"I wonder what a cerberus is doing in Hogwarts?" Malfoy says. "They're usually only used to guard things. What could it be guarding?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, let's just hurry up and get this done so we can go do something more entertaining. Like hex Weasley again."

"Now you're talking," I say.


	7. Christmas

Christmas is approaching, and it's apparently traditional to exchange presents with one's friends and family. Well, I don't have any family here, but I can at least get some presents for my friends. I'm stuck in the school for the moment, though, so I can't go out shopping, so I look through owl-order catalogues instead. I've still got money, so I can get stuff delivered. Balthazar won't mind a chance to get out and be useful.

I've noticed that Neville and Ron are both using hand-me-down wands. I won't be able to simply order a good match for them, so I'll need to actually take them to Ollivander's.

Neville is using his father's wand rather than one of his own. Perhaps that might be one of the reasons he tends to have such poor results with magic. But if I want to get him a new one, I'll need to take him to Ollivander's, and he's not staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, but has gone home to his grandmother.

Ron is using his brother's old wand instead of one that has actually chosen him. He doesn't do badly in classes, but I can imagine just how much more powerful he might become with a properly matched wand. He's staying at Hogwarts for Christmas this year, so I won't need to go collect him from elsewhere if I can get permission to pay a visit to Diagon Alley.

"Professor Dumbledore?" I ask. "Is there any chance I could get permission, as well as someone to accompany me, to Diagon Alley, with a friend or two of mine?"

"Hmm?" Dumbledore says. "What do you need there?"

"I've noticed that some of my friends are using second-hand wands, and I'd like to buy them new ones for Christmas."

"Ah, that's very thoughtful of you," Dumbledore says. "Why don't you ask Aberforth to take you there? I'm sure he'd love to see you again. You have my permission to visit Diagon Alley with him."

"Thank you, sir."

Balthazar returns with Aberforth's reply quickly. "Of course, I wouldn't mind at all."

"Hey, Ron. We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow so I can get you a surprise for Christmas."

"Really?" Ron says. "What is it?"

"I just told you, it's a surprise, silly."

"Can I come, too?" Harry asks.

"Sure, why not?" I say.

Diagon Alley is busy today, bustling with people doing some last-minute Christmas shopping.

Neville meets us in Diagon Alley after Flooing over with his grandmother. She wasn't part of the plan, but I can't say anything. I bow to her respectfully in greeting.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Longbottom," I say. "I trust you are well?"

"Oh, you're such a polite young man," she says.

I lead on through the marketplace. I don't want to spoil the surprise too quickly, though, so we stop in for a quick bit of ice cream first. Then, with a mischievous grin, I head on over toward Ollivander's.

Ron's eyes widen a little as he sees the place and realizes suddenly what I intend. "You're going to buy us new wands? Seriously?"

Mrs. Longbottom, however, doesn't look particularly pleased at the situation, making a sour expression. "I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Chelseer, but this really isn't necessary. Neville already has a perfectly good wand, and he should be proud of using it. His father did many great things with that wand."

I was afraid of this. I take a deep breath and put on my best charismatic voice. "Yes, but the wand is a poor match for him and he's not doing as well as he could be because of it. He has the potential to become a powerful wizard, but he needs to be able to do so without tripping over his father's robes in the process."

"You really think so?" Neville says.

I give him a reassuring smile. "Most definitely, Neville. I have complete faith in you."

Neville practically melts under the praise. Mrs. Longbottom seems to have been mollified at my words, and makes no further protest.

We head into the shop. There's no other customers at the moment, and Ollivander comes out to greet us.

"Ah, customers?" Ollivander says. "I hope you are having a pleasant holiday. Ah, Mr. Chelseer, good day to you. I hope your wand is treating you well -- pine and dragon heartstring, twelve inches."

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'm quite happy with it, thank you. I take good care of it. I've got a couple of friends here that I'm buying new wands for as Christmas presents."

"Very good," Ollivander says. "I shall bring out some wands to try out."

After trying out a string of different wands, Ron winds up paired with a wand of willow and unicorn hair, fourteen inches. He's grinning like a schoolboy on Christmas... wait, he _is_ a schoolboy on Christmas.

Neville receives a good match with a wand of cherry and unicorn hair, thirteen inches long. From the looks of things, it appears to suit him much better than his father's old wand.

I pass over some galleons to Ollivander and thank him politely.

After we're heading off again and leaving Diagon Alley, Aberforth leans close and speaks to me quietly. "You've a good heart, son. Your friends should be proud to have someone like you on their side."

On Christmas morning, I'm opening presents in the Gryffindor common room.

Ron got me a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

Draco sent me a book on dark magic, of questionable legality. It looks like it contains a number of useful offensive spells -- certainly more than I'd be learning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, even in a good year.

Hermione got me a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ , apparently having noticed my interest in History of Magic class.

Harry gave me some bird treats for Balthazar, with a note saying that his owl, Hedwig, loved them.

Neville sent me some Cauldron Cakes, along with a tongue-in-cheek note that he'd leave these cauldrons for me to destroy.

From Aberforth, I received some bottles of butterbeer.

Harry pulls out the extra bag of holding that I'd wrapped up for him. It only took a tiny box, since it's not very big on the outside. Just a small, unassuming pouch that can fit easily into your pocket.

"What is this?" Harry wonders.

"That's a bag of holding," I explain. "I had an extra one, so I figured someone else might as well get some use out of it, you know?"

"Bag of holding?" Harry says. "You mean it holds stuff? It must be a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, then."

"Yup! And anything you bring near its opening will shrink to fit, too. You can keep all sorts of stuff in your pocket that way. Books, food, broomsticks, muggle automobiles..."

"Seriously?" Ron says. "Wow, that's got to be some great charm on it, then."

"I always wondered why you didn't bother with a trunk," Harry says. "Thanks, Lexen!"

"Heh, yeah," I say. "You wouldn't believe all the stuff I carry around in mine."

"Hey, Lexen," Ron says. "Thanks for the Fudge Flies. Scabbers loves these things. He'll probably eat up the lot of them in five minutes if I let him."

"Heh, let him have his fun," I say. "It's Christmas, after all."

And the better to get enough poison into his system before he notices it. I soaked those Fudge Flies in enough illicit substances to knock out a dragon. That should be more than enough to kill a rat.

Malfoy's gift has an unassuming enough cover, but I still don't want to be caught reading it in public. This is unquestionably what this world considers dark magic, after all, and although I'm hardly squeamish about that sort of thing, I don't doubt I could get in serious trouble if the wrong person were to find out about what I'm dabbling in. So I don't look at it in the dormitory. I slip out to a quiet, unused classroom to read, and maybe try out a few things while I'm at it. It's still holiday break, so the chances of anyone catching me are pretty low.

The book has a number of interesting spells in it. Ways to kill and incapacitate people. I have to wonder just why some of these things are even considered supposedly 'dark' in this world. Although some rather nasty things even I would call 'dark' are mixed in as well. There's things I can learn from this. I'll have to thank Malfoy profusely the next time I see him. This is very possibly the most useful magic I've come across so far at Hogwarts.

Fire, lightning, ice -- typical elemental magic that the Elkandu take for granted and look down on as 'lesser' forms of power, and they they don't seem to appreciate their utility as basic attacks spells. I see, these aren't just simple charms that produce fire or freeze things or whatnot, but darker variations. Interesting.

Then there's curses to hinder or paralyze an opponent, to make them sick or weaken them. They're all fairly simple, low-level curses, for the most part. It's like a beginner's guide to dark magic. But one has to start somewhere, after all, and I still learn a fair bit from it.

"I think Scabbers is sick," Ron says. "I knew he shouldn't have eaten all those Fudge Flies."

Personally, I'm surprised that the miserable rodent has survived this long. It's been two weeks since Christmas. And the only result has been a rat who is more lethargic than usual, and refuses to eat. Obviously, I should have stepped up the dosage of poison in those treats I gave Ron for him. But it doesn't last much longer, and I can't be disappointed in the result, as the rat finally bites the dust by that weekend.

"Scabbers? Scabbers? He won't move!" As he's prodding the rat's inert form with his wand, suddenly the tiny corpse expands and morphs grotesquely. In moments, where there had been a dead rodent, there is now a dead man. "Bloody hell!"

"Language, Ron." Hermione, entering the common room, admonishes him. Then she notices the corpse. "Bloody hell."

One of the older students has already noticed what's happened and run off to get Professor McGonagall.

"That... is not Scabbers," Ron says, stepping away from the dead body.

"Who do you think he is?" Harry wonders.

"What's going on here?" Professor McGonagall strides into the Gryffindor common room and looks over to the dead body.

"Is he... is he dead?" Ron stammers.

"It would appear so," McGonagall says. "Would someone explain how he got in here?"

"He... he was my pet rat, I think," Ron says. "He was really sick after Christmas, and then when he... he died, he turned into a man..."

"Hmm... then it would appear that your pet rat was actually an animagus," McGonagall says. "Interesting. How long have you had this rat of yours?"

"He belonged to my brother Percy before me. I think between us, we've had him for maybe, ten years?"

"Most interesting indeed. I must call for Professor Dumbledore, and we will see about identifying this man." Professor McGonagall leaves again, whisking away the dead body along with her as she goes, much to the relief of many of the onlookers in the common room.

"What's an animagus?" Harry wonders.

I love Harry sometimes, really. He's always asking the questions I really want to know, so that he can look like an idiot for asking them instead of me.

"It's a wizard who can turn into an animal," Hermione says. "They're really rare, because it's a hard skill to master, and all animagi are supposed to be registered. Being an illegal animagus is enough to earn you a sentence in Azkaban."

 

Harry stares at her in confusion for a long moment before asking, "What's Azkaban?"

"Azkaban is the wizard prison," Hermione says. "It's supposed to be a really terrible place to be sent, and nobody has ever escaped from there."

"Are you okay, Ron?" Harry asks.

"I'm just kind of... in shock," Ron says. "That... that _man_ , whoever he was, was sleeping in my _bed_! I can't believe it."

This is not the outcome I had expected when I prepared that 'gift'. I'd been just intending it as a cruel prank, but I hadn't imagined that this rat might turn out to be more than he had appeared. I'm keeping my mouth shut, looking on from nearby. I don't really care to take either credit or blame for this just now.

The next morning, Professor McGonagall returns to the common room to speak with Ron. Apparently, she wants the rest of us to hear, too.

"We've discovered the identity of the man who was posing as your pet, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall says. "And I think Mr. Potter will want to hear this, as well."

"What does it have to do with me?" Harry says.

"This man was Peter Pettigrew, apparently," McGonagall explains. "Your parents' friend, and a man who was supposed to have died ten years ago..."

Harry stares silently at Professor McGonagall.

"He was supposedly murdered by one Sirius Black, the man who was believed to have betrayed your parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But it seems things aren't that simple. Professor Dumbledore has requested that the case on Sirius Black be re-opened, only to discover that he was imprisoned without a trial. So he has requested the chance to question Sirius Black under veritaserum. He doubts that the Ministry will accept Black's testimony at this point, but if he's truly innocent, the Headmaster will not tolerate him remaining locked away, regardless."

"So... what will this mean?" Harry wonders.

"Don't get your hopes up too soon," McGonagall says. "We still don't know just what happened that night. I'll keep you appraised of any further developments."

Harry gives a nod, looking rather distant. Then Professor McGonagall directs her attention toward the rest of us, her eyes resting on me and staying there for longer than I might like. Does she know?

"We also discovered that this man died from poison," McGonagall says. "Some might believe this to have been murder. However, I do not believe the culprit realized that this was anything more than a mere rat. Mr. Weasley, did he eat anything unusual before his death?"

Ron gives a look toward me and says in a quiet voice. "He... got sick after eating some Fudge Flies that Lexen gave me for Christmas for him. They were his favorite."

"Mr. Chelseer?" McGonagall says. I shrink a little under her piercing gaze and look at the floor. "Mr. Chelseer, did you attempt to poison Mr. Weasley's pet?"

Well, detention, here I come. I answer her sheepishly. "Yes, Professor."

Harry and Ron are giving me hard looks.

"You are fortunate that no students ate any of those tainted Fudge Flies, Mr. Chelseer. As it is, your actions have caused the death of a human being, regardless. But, as there's no way you could have known that this rat was actually a human being, I will settle for giving you detention, rather than setting you up on murder charges."

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry, Professor."

"You will have detention with me every weekend for the remainder of the year. Starting tonight."

"Yes, Professor."

"And Mr. Chelseer? I am highly disappointed in you."


	8. Starting Over

I go back to where it all began in Torn Elkandu to start over.

I decide to collect some materials to see about having a custom-built wand made for me.

"Put me down in Aurora Core, on Lezaria," I say. "I'd like to pay an ancestor of mine a quick visit before I go anywhere."

"I'll have to put you down at the edge of the place. The proximity to the Gates of Time disrupts teleportation in the vicinity."

I nod to the gnome, and step into the Nexus. I'm swept away by mists, and arrive in a stark mountain canyon. A chill wind cuts down between the barren rocks, and I look around to find the entrance to the legendary cave where Khasadala Seer can be found.

Every Chelseer child knows the legend of our progenitor, the half-dragon princess of the elven kingdom of Kedresida, and how she guards the Gates of Time to prevent the unworthy from meddling in things best left alone.

I climb up into the cave. The air here tingles with raw magical energy, setting the hairs on my arms to stand on end. Through a dim tunnel I go, but at least it isn't very long.

I come out into a wide chamber with three luminescent gateways on different sides of the cave, swirling with ever-shifting mist. In the center of the cavern rests a large dragon, red scales tinted purplish in the unnatural light of the Gates.

She stirs as I approach, and gazes down at me with golden eyes for several moments before standing and stretching. Then her form seems to melt away before my eyes, shedding tons as she takes on the appearance of a graceful elven woman.

"Welcome, descendant," Khasadala says. "What brings you to the Gates of Time?"

"How do you know I'm your descendant?" I ask.

"I can sense the dragon's blood flowing within your veins," Khasadala replies. "I know you are the heir to my house, but you are also the heir to my legacy."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"If you do not know yet, it is not my place to tell you."

And this is why I hate most Time Mages, even if I am one. They seem to be invariably cryptic and unhelpful. But I shake it off. I didn't come here for advice, anyway. No sense getting annoyed about it.

"I know this may seem like a strange request, but could I perhaps by chance have a few of your scales?"

"Hmm, for you, I will grant you this," Khasadala says. "I would not do so for most people, even my own descendants, but you are worthy. Even if you do not realize it yet."

Carefully, she gathers up three freshly shed scales, each of them almost as large as my palms, and hands them to me. They are warm to the touch, and I can practically feel the magic infused within them. I place them within my bag of holding.

"I don't know what you intend to do with them, but I wish you good fortune, regardless of what path you may choose."

"You don't know?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "But I thought you could see the future."

She shakes her head, turning around and making a sweeping gesture toward the three Gates. They glow and shift, ever-changing. Snatches of images play within the mists, but I can barely glimpse any one image for long enough to identify it before it is replaced by another.

"Through the Gates of Time, I can see what is, what was, and what may be. But there is no single future, and neither is there a single past or present. The rivers of Time are as many and varied as the paths in a forest. Tangled, sprawling, criss-crossing, meandering, and wild. No man or mage can say for certain what the future holds. Not even I, not even you."

"I see..." I say uncertainly. "Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you for your gift, Khasadala Seer, and for your words."

"May your magic never falter, Stormseeker."

* * *

"Send me to Thalarey, on Lezaria," I say. "Near the cherry forests, if you would."

Everyone knows about the ancient, magical cherry forests of Thalarey. Giant trees said to be immortal and intelligent, that would visit strange dreams upon anyone that slept beneath their boughs.

"Alright, then," Calto says. "Watch out for the zephyli. Good luck."

"Zephyli?" I say in puzzlement. "What's that?"

"The flying monkeys that live up in the trees," the gnome tells me. "They try to keep to themselves, but Shazmar help you if they catch you messing with the cherry trees."

The aforementioned legends hadn't mentioned anything about that, however. I realize how woefully inadequate my knowledge of even this part of the universe is.

"I'm probably going to have to talk to them for what I'm looking for, but I'll be careful," I assure him.

The Nexus deposits me down into a sunny meadow near the shadow of towering trees. Legends have nothing on the mountainous size of these cherries. It's a little hard to believe that trees of this sort could get so large, even with the aid of magic.

Now to just find a twig or branch that would make a suitable wand. I may not be an expert in wand lore or anything, but I know enough about magic that this isn't going to be quite as easy as just walking in and picking up a dead twig and expecting it to work.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement in the trees. Overhead. Fluttering wings, a rustling of leaves. They don't show themselves in plain sight just yet, but I know that this has to be the zephyli.

I whistle, and wave my hands up toward them to get their attention. I know they're watching me, but they're wary and don't come out at first.

"I just want to talk to you," I say. "I mean you no harm."

After another minute, one of the creatures comes down and lands on the forest floor in front of me, then another couple flutter down at his side. There are more of them still up in the trees, though, watching us intently, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

"What business have you in our forest, human?"

Best get this started on the right foot, and be as polite and respectful to them as possible. I bow deeply toward the zephyli. "Greetings, good zephyli. My name is Lexen Chelseer, and I apologize for my intrusion into your territory, but I have come to ask of you a boon."

"I am the Seeker of Camar. We don't like dealing with outsiders. Too many times have the elves asked too much of us and given too little in return. We have not forgotten the rape of the mighty tree Jerekhani."

"I'm afraid I am not familiar with that," I say. "My apologies. What happened with Jerekhani, if I might ask?"

"The elves of the ship-city demanded a tree from which to build a ship. They did not understand the gravity of what they were asking. To sacrifice the life of a great tree for such a purpose? But they insisted, threatened, blackmailed, cajoled, and coerced, and in the end, they got what they wanted. And in the end, they broke their promises as well."

"I understand," I say. "By all rights, they should be held accountable for their actions. It is dishonorable to make promises that one does not intend to keep. I am not here to threaten you or take the wood of your sacred trees by force or coercion."

"So then, Lexen Chelseer. What is it that you would ask of the zephyli of Camar?"

"I wish one branch, and no more," I reply.

The zephyl's tail flicks as he looks at me sternly. "And to what purpose do you intend to put this branch? Would you disrespect the spirit of the tree by using it as a walking stick, or a cudgel to beat people with?"

"No, I would not," I say. "I wish it to be made into a wand, a magical focusing device used by the wizards of some worlds to practice their spells. These wands are intelligent, and choose their bearer by their own will, and the bearer must be well-matched to the wand to get good results."

The zephyl looks thoughtful for several long moments, as if gauging my words and the sincerity of my intentions, before finally answering. "This is an honorable purpose. I will permit this, if one of the trees is willing. But I expect equal trade in equal measure. And I do not trust outsiders, so I will expect your part in the trade to come first."

"What would you ask of me, Seeker?"

"I cannot ask of you more than you are capable of giving," the zephyl says. "Tell me, what is the most valuable thing you have?"

"That's easy," I say. "I have some magic gemstones."

"And tell me, how precious would you consider this one branch of cherry wood that you are asking? Would you trade everything you have for it?"

I think about that for several moments, and then answer in all honesty, "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Very well. I believe you hold appropriate respect and honor toward the spirits of the trees. I will not ask that of you, but instead, I will ask you to trade a single one of your magic gemstones for a single branch of cherry wood. Equal trade in equal measure."

"Agreed," I say. I pull out a magical sapphire from my bag of holding and pass it over to the zephyl, who takes it from me and examines it closely as if to verify the authenticity of it, before putting it away in a belt pouch.

"Now, let us see if we can find a tree who is willing to part with a piece of themself for you. If we cannot find one, I will return your gemstone to you. I will not be accused of the same things which I spit upon the elves for."

The Seeker instructs me to walk up to the nearest tree, and place my hands upon the trunk. Once I have done so, he places one hand on the tree as well, and his eyes take on a glazed and distant look.

"No, not this one," the zephyl says.

We move over to the next tree and repeat the process, and then the next, and the one after that, and another one after that. Finally, we come upon one that feels a little different from the rest. I feel a sense of inner warmth as this tree's spirit connects with me and embraces me for just a moment. Like a song sung within my very soul.

"Yes. Yes," the zephyl says. "You felt that. This one's personality is in harmony with yours. His name is Revion."

I keep my hands upon the trunk, staring up at the magnificent tree as the Seeker flies up to perform the deed, and shortly thereafter, returns to hand me a length of freshly cut wood. I accept it from him with a gracious bow and put it away in my bag of holding.

"Thank you, Seeker," I say. "And thank you, Revion. I will do my best not to dishonor your name."

"Go with the wind, Lexen Chelseer," the zephyl says.

* * *

I decide to do something about the Dumbledore's terrible choice of a Defense professor.

"I'd like to speak with my great-grandmother, Hawthorne, if I could," I say. "Do you happen to know where she might be at the moment?"

"Oh. She's on Lezaria right now," Calto says. "Went back to Wishingsdale for something or other. I can send you straight there if you like."

"Please do."

The Nexus deposits me on the edges of a picturesque little village nestled in the hills of Rascalanse. The village of Wishingsdale has been the home of the Chelseer family for only the last four hundred years. This is where I grew up, even though my father was from a different universe. Until I went to Torn Elkandu to study, this was the only home I knew.

I approach the Chelseer Estate, pass the stables and pastures where the family raises horses, and head inside the big house. I find Hawthorne in the dining room, devouring a huge meal by herself. Well, I can readily see where I get my appetite from, at any rate.

"Ah, hello, Lexen. Come join me for lunch."

I sit down at the table next to her and grab a bite to eat myself.

"So what brings you back to Wishingsdale?" Hawthorne asks. "I thought you were studying in Torn Elkandu."

"Change of plans."

Hawthorne gnaws on a haunch of mutton and nods to me encouragingly to continue.

"I've decided to do some studying outside of Torn Elkandu," I say. "Visit some different worlds, see the multiverse, and all that."

"Sounds like a plan," Hawthorne says. "Where do you have in mind?"

"There's this school called Hogwarts that looks good," I reply. "They teach focus-magic using wands, kind of like what you do with your sword."

"Hmm. Interesting."

"The Elkandu might look down on their sort of magic, but it'll be easier to learn a wider variety of spells, and with enough skill and practice, easier to switch to doing magic without a wand or anything later on. I'm honestly not too impressed with the abilities of many of the Elkandu. You've got a handful of people able to do amazing things, and then a couple hundred people who can hardly light candles. It is, to be honest, pretty pathetic."

"You do make a good point, there," Hawthorne says.

"It's kind of sad, though," I say. "A lot of their teachers seem great, but their main class that focuses on combat magic seems almost useless because of the inept teachers it gets. They've had different teachers in that position every year for a while now, apparently. I heard some Dark Lord like, cursed the position or something to hinder efforts against him, I guess."

"Well, that's no good," Hawthorne says. "That's the most important class!"

"Unless someone else steps up, this year's teacher is going to be a twit named Quirrell, who stutters whenever anyone looks at him."

"Squirrel?" Hawthorne says with a snort. "Bah! I've got half a mind to show them what _real_ battle magic is all about!"

"I'm sure they would greatly benefit from your expertise," I say carefully. "But don't you have other things to be doing?"

"Well, yes, but... my great-grandson's education is important, and I could just make an excuse to Keolah that I'm doing extended research of other worlds or something."

"Really? I'd get to learn from you directly?" My excitement is only half-feigned. For all her lack of subtlety, Hawthorne is a powerful mage and an expert at destruction.

"Then it's settled," Hawthorne says. "I'll just leave Keolah a message -- she won't argue with me, anyway."

That's because arguing with Hawthorne is like arguing with a brick wall. Or maybe a spiked fence.

"Great! I'm so excited!" I finish eating as much as I care to and stand up.

"Meet me back at the Nexus when you're ready to leave, if you have anything else you want to do first."

"Alright," I say.


	9. Hogwarts Revisited

Hawthorne meets me at the Nexus promptly when I'm ready to go. She seems even more excited than I am, with a expression of practically grinning like a schoolgirl herself. I can see why people like her get involved with the Elkandu. The prospect of seeing strange, new places _is_ pretty thrilling.

"So, Lexen, anything else you can tell me about where we're going before we head out?"

"Well, because of the way we talk, they'll think we're Americans. it's the general policy of the Elkandu not to go around telling everyone that we're interdimensional travelers, right?"

Hawthorne gives a nod of understanding. "Right. So we'll just tell them that we're from America, then."

I take some time to drill her a bit on the things I know about the world, so that she doesn't look completely confused the minute someone mentions Floo powder or the like.

"You sound like you've spent a good deal of time there already."

"Nah, not really, I've just done a bit of research as preparation," I lie. "I'm sure there's plenty that I've forgotten to mention or that I just plain don't know about yet."

"Well, no help for it," Hawthorne says. "I mean, part of the point of going is to learn more about other worlds, and this seems like a great opportunity to do so to me! Let's get going."

"I've got the Nexus calibrated and ready to go," Calto says.

The Nexus puts us down in the familiar streets of Hogsmeade. Hawthorne looks around the place, hand on hips, shimmering cloak fluttering in the breeze, as if challenging her very surroundings to pick a fight with her.

"Alright, where's Hogwarts?" Hawthorne asks.

"It's that castle on the other side of the lake."

Hawthorne snorts softly and looks in the direction that I'm pointing in. "Calto couldn't have set us down a little closer?"

"It's warded against teleportation," I explain. "This probably _was_ the closest he could send us."

"Ah. I see," Hawthorne says. "Well, no help for it then. Let's get going."

As we start walking toward Hogwarts, I cast a slightly apologetic glance in the direction of the Hog's Head. I won't even meet Aberforth this time around, it seems.

Hawthorne confidently strides across the grounds and straight up to the castle gates, with me trailing along behind her.

"Eh? What is this?" Filch says. "What are you doing here?"

"I would speak with your Headmaster about the teaching position I've heard about," Hawthorne says.

"You're here for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post? Fine, go talk to him, then. I think he already has someone in mind, though."

"If you mean that Squirrel buffoon, I'll tell him not to bother," Hawthorne replies with a snort.

Professor Dumbledore is alone in his office, along with his pet phoenix. "So you came all the way from America to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position? Lemon sherbet?"

"Oh, certainly." She accepts the offered candy gratefully, and I take one as well.

"What are your qualifications? Have you ever taught before?"

"Not formally, no," Hawthorne replies. "But I've fought a lot of dark wizards and monsters in my time."

"And is this your son?" Dumbledore says, looking at me. "The resemblance is strong. Will he be attending Hogwarts this year?"

"My grandson, actually. And yes, if I'm to be teaching here, I'm bringing him with me. I don't know what his mother's run off to do, but I think she's running with the wrong crowd, so gotta steer him on the right path, and all."

"Well, I was considering having one Mr. Quirrell to teach it this year, but he seems to be lacking in something, and there's something off about him. If I have a better option, I'll certainly take it. Consider yourself hired, Professor Chelseer."

* * *

Since Hawthorne will be teaching here this year, and we don't have anywhere else to go in this world yet, I'm staying at the castle until school starts as it is. Once I get my list of school supplies, Hawthorne takes me by Floo to Diagon Alley to pick them up.

"We'll need to get our money changed into galleons," Hawthorne says. "Ah, Gringotts? That looks like the bank, over there."

I refrain from answering, and we head over to Gringotts and go inside. At least I can be confident that the goblins will change our money.

Hawthorne and I put out some valuables, although Hawthorne has a larger pile including more gemstones. She follows my lead so confidently that it looks as though I'm the one following instead.

"Can we get these changed into galleons?" Hawthorne asks.

The goblins exchange our money, and we gathering up the piles and scooping it away into the mouths of our tiny pouches.

"Time to visit the wand shop," I say quietly. "You'll probably want one as well, I'd imagine."

Hawthorne gives a nod and looks around for Ollivander's, and I point it out politely.

A wand. An energy focus to allow for easier and stronger uses of magic. We head into Ollivander's to see about wands. As before, Malfoy is in there testing wands. And then makes the mistake of calling me a mudblood again.

"Mudblood!?" Hawthorne roars. "How dare you!"

"And you must be his mother?" Malfoy observes. "You're obviously not purely human, for that matter, with ears like that."

"I will not stand for an upstart little brat like you insulting _my family_." In the blink of an eye, Malfoy has a large, glowing, rune-covered sword pointed at his throat.

"Grandma... can we not kill anyone today, please?" I say gently.

Malfoy looks as though he's about to soil himself. Hawthorne glances aside at me and seems to calm down a bit, then puts away her sword again. Malfoy straightens his collar self-consciously and brushes at his robes.

"By the way, Malfoy. This is my grandmother, Professor Chelseer. She'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

Malfoy blinks a few times, and then says, "Oh."

"You should be glad she can't pre-emptively give you detention or take points away from Slytherin already."

Once he gets his wand, Malfoy quickly leaves the shop with his tail between his legs, figuratively. Ollivander then tries to get me to try out wands, but I hold up my hand and shake my head.

"Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt Malfoy, but could you perhaps make me a custom-made wand with my own materials?"

"That would be considerably more expensive, but if you're willing to pay, I can have one made for you in time for school," Ollivander replies. "What materials do you have that you would like me to use?"

I pull out the three dragon scales Khasadala gave me from my bag of holding, and show them to him. Vibrant, fiery red, and practically oozing with power. A testament to Khasadala's raw strength that even her shed scales are like this. Ollivander raises an eyebrow and examines one of the scales critically.

"Interesting," Ollivander says. "What kind of dragon are these from?"

"A red one," I reply a little dumbly.

"There is quite a lot of power in them. They could make for fine wands. I only need one of them to make a wand with, though."

"Go ahead and keep the others as partial payment for your services," I say.

"No, I'd like a custom wand made from one of the others as well," Hawthorne interjects.

"Very well, I can do that," Ollivander says. "What sort of wood would you like for your wand?"

I pull out the branch of cherry wood that I had gotten in Thalarey from the tree named Revion, and hand it over to him.

"Cherry?" Ollivander says. "And high quality wand wood, at that. You've obviously come quite prepared. Cherry is a rare and powerful wand wood, and this seems a particularly fine example of it."

"I don't have any special wood for my own wand, and I'm not too sure what sort would suit me best," Hawthorne says.

"Have you been matched with another wand previously?" Ollivander asks.

Hawthorne shakes her head.

I give her a crooked grin. "How about your namesake... Hawthorne?" I suggest.

"Heh... yeah, true, I'd be surprised if that didn't work well enough," Hawthorne says in amusement.

We settle on a rather hefty price and exchange a number of coins as well as one of my non-magical gemstones.

"Very well. I will have your wands crafted and delivered to you before school starts."

We head next over to Magical Menagerie. I enter the shop and glance around, and my eyes quickly settle upon the bright-eyed raven that was gazing right back at me. I smile a little as I see him. I had missed Balthazar.

"So, you're a raven, aren't you? How would you like to go with me?"

The raven makes a positive-sounding noise, and I go buy the bird and carry him out of the shop. It feels good to have my raven again.

"Now, what shall I call you. How do you like... Balthazar?"

The raven appreciates the name, as I expected he would. I have my wand arranged and my bird again. I'll be back in action soon enough.

* * *

King's Cross is just as busy as usual. I have no idea why I'm riding the train when I've actually been staying _at_ Hogwarts, but who am I to question tradition?

"I'll be patroling the corridors with the prefects, so you go on and find a seat for yourself," Hawthorne says.

"Alright."

My custom-made wand just arrived by owl post in Hogsmeade a week ago. This wand feels more powerful in my hand than my original one did. I'm pleased with how its construction turned out.

Shortly, Hermione shows up asking if I've seen Neville's toad.

"Heh," I grunt in amusement. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd try to lose it, too. Maybe Neville will get lucky and one of the other pets will eat it."

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

As she storms down the corridor, I hear mocking laughter outside my compartment. My comments were overheard, it seems. Malfoy, the blond boy that I saw in Ollivander's, comes into view, flanked by a pair of thuggish looking boys. Malfoy looks at me with his seeming perpetual sneer, and comes into my compartment and sits down, as do his companions.

"I don't think we were properly introduced before. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You wouldn't want to associate with the wrong sorts. Like that mudblood girl."

"You should watch out, Malfoy," I warn him lightly. "Just because she's a mudblood doesn't mean she might not wind up becoming more powerful than you'd expect. It'd just be embarrassing for a pureblood to be outclassed by a mudblood like that, don't you think?"

"Ugh, I know," Malfoy says. "I don't think that sort should even be allowed to attend."

I knew he was a bigot when I first met him, and he doesn't exactly do anything to convince me otherwise. But if his family is powerful, I don't really care to needlessly get on his bad side. I refrain from comment.

"So, what house do you think you'll be in?" Malfoy asks. "I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin. It's the best house, of course. I think I'd just die if I wound up in Hufflepuff."

"If I wound up in anything with a name like Hufflepuff, I'd kill myself."

"I know!" Malfoy says. "Oh, you're not from our country, right? You don't know anything about our houses?"

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Well, Slytherin is for the purebloods, of course, although they sometimes let half-bloods in, too. Ravenclaw is for the really smart people. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad to end up in Ravenclaw if I didn't get Slytherin. Gryffindor, though, is for people who like to do reckless and stupid things. And Hufflepuff just takes the leftovers. The ones that nobody else wants."

"I don't think I could complain if I wound up anywhere but Hufflepuff. Heh, I'm sure my grandmother would be pleased as punch if I wound up in Gryffindor. She was always the 'charge in screaming, think later' sort. I'll admit that I've done a few stupid things in my life, myself, but I do try to avoid it. Dying isn't fun."

"I'm sure you'd make a great Slytherin," Malfoy says.

We arrive at Hogwarts and file into the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat is looking just as old and tattered as usual. Why doesn't anyone clean it up or make it look nicer? It always looks like it's about ready to fall apart.

"Well, this is very interesting, very interesting indeed," the hat murmurs to me when I get up to be sorted. "Welcome back, apparently, Lexen Chelseer. You've been through this before, so you don't need me to tell you that you'd fit in perfectly well with any of the houses. So where would you like me to put you?"

"Just send me to Gryffindor, please."

"Very well, then. GRYFFINDOR! And good luck to you."

Once the Sorting is over, Dumbledore stands up to speak. "I'd like to introduce Professor Chelseer. She has come all the way from America to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

I settle into classes once more. It'll be a repeat of lessons that I've already sat through before, but that's alright. I can be patient, I tell myself, and the practice never hurts.

When Snape starts quizzing Harry Potter on things he couldn't possibly know yet, I pull out a parchment and start taking notes about it, despite already knowing the answers myself.

"Well?" Snape demands. "Why is Chelseer the only one taking notes?"

When it comes to History of Magic, I try another approach. Having already sat through his class before, I take the opportunity to ask questions to fill in the gaps in my knowledge of wizarding history. With Hermione being the only one paying attention, nobody really complains about this, and Professor Binns seems quite pleased to have someone who seems actually interested in his class.

"Hello, children," Hawthorne addresses her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with me. "I am Professor Chelseer, and welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. And I always say, the best defense is a good offense, so I'm going to teach you how to _kill people_."

A murmur runs through the class at her words.

"But, in the interests of a well-rounded education, it's good to know about shielding and healing as well," Hawthorne goes on. "It's inevitable that, at some point, you or an ally is going to get hurt, or you're going to want to protect someone or something. We're going to start off with the Knockback Jinx. The incantation is _Flipendo_. This is a simple, basic spell that can be used to knock someone or something back."

She gestures toward the side of the room, where a number of what appear to be dolls have been arranged. "Allow me to demonstrate," Hawthorne says. " _Flipendo!_ "

Pointing her wand at the nearest doll, it's struck by a flash of blue light, and flies away from her about ten feet. After a moment, it scrambles back to its feet and returns to where it was on its own.

"Now, there's more than enough targets for everyone in the room, so pick one and practice the spell on your own. I'll be over here continuing demonstrations and available for questions if you need help. I want to see dolls flying around the room now. And if I see any _children_ flying around the room, someone's losing points."

I'm a little surprised at how quickly Hawthorne adapted to the sort of magic they use in this world. And switching to a wand seems to have dramatically increased her precision and allowed for more delicate spellwork than the brute force sort of magic she's been most known for. You wouldn't even guess that she's actually practicing the spells herself right alongside us.

As the students knock their own dolls about, Hawthorne is at the front of the class demonstrating for the curious or motivated about variations on the spell. She charges up the spell to a purple color to knock her doll halfway across the room. She charges it up to red to cause it to send it flying into the far wall with a splat. She uses it to send multiple dolls scattering at once. Hawthorne does it so expertly that I think I'm the only one who realizes that she's actually just trying these out herself for the first time.

I know she spends every spare moment practicing and reading up on spells, too. All she does at the moment is eat, teach, and practice. No time for sleep. It's strange to see her so motivated and diligent. This is so much unlike the Hawthorne I thought I knew that I almost have to wonder if I got the right one.

I even heard a seventh-year saying that Professor Chelseer is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they've ever had. I wonder what that says about the previous teachers. If Quirrell was any indication, nothing good, I would imagine.

In Charms class, I'm reviewing magical theory and trying to ignore Harry Potter's supposed famousness. Finally, on Halloween, we're supposed to be levitating feathers with the incantation 'Wingardium Leviosa'. Telekinetic lifting of objects is a simple use of power, and one I know I'm better at doing nonverbally, so I don't even bother with the incantation. I simply concentrate and focus my will, swish and flick my wand, and my feather obediently raises into the air.

"Oh, excellent, Mr. Chelseer!" Flitwick says. "Nonverbally, even! Well done! Five points to Gryffindor."

"Argh. He's just showing off," Ron says. "Does he always have to rub in how much better he is than everyone else?"

The Halloween feast concludes without any word of a troll in the castle. That useless twit Quirrell had discovered it last time. I'm worried for a bit that, without him to discover it, it has been left to rampage longer than before and might be killing people. But then I relax again as enough time passes that I realize that someone would have noticed by now.

There is no troll in the castle.

As absurd as it sounds, Quirrell must have actually been the one to let the troll in last time. I can't imagine any other changes that I have made this time around that might have caused this altered turn of events. I have to wonder what other changes might yet to be uncovered in the future solely by having Hawthorne teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts...

"Grandma, could we go and visit Diagon Alley for Christmas presents for some of my friends?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, no problem," Hawthorne says. "I'll let the Headmaster know where we'll be going."

We go to Diagon Alley to go wand shopping for my friends, and make our way to Ollivander's.

Neville finally comes upon an excellent match, leading to a burst of beautiful golden sparks from the end of the wand, leading to Ollivander raising an eyebrow and looking between the two of us thoughtfully.

"Most interesting," Ollivander says.

"What is, Mr. Ollivander?" I ask.

"That wand is the brother to your own, Mr. Chelseer," Ollivander replies. "Ash and dragon scale, thirteen inches. Very interesting indeed."

"Really? Wow..." Neville breathes.

I chuckle softly and clap Neville on the shoulder. "Well, I'll be proud to be Neville's wand-brother, then."

To say that Neville's performance in our classes improved a bit would be an understatement. It seems, between his new wand and increased confidence, his abilities have grown tenfold.


End file.
